


'Till death sets me free

by Allie2019



Category: Metro 2033 & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:47:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23040427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allie2019/pseuds/Allie2019
Summary: A collection of shorter stories. Pavel's journey through emptiness. These stories aren't necessarily in chronological order but they all take part in the same universe.
Relationships: Artyom/Pavel Morozov
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	1. drinking alone

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning: This work features references to/mentions of suicide, suicidal thoughts, and excessive alcohol consumption. 
> 
> I wrote these ages ago. Don't know why but I felt like posting it now. I guess I'll use quite different styles in all the different stories because although they are a part of the same story, I wouldn't call them the same work, if that makes sense. Oh, and the title is a line from the song "Pastures of Plenty" by the artist Odetta. I actually have no idea what that song is about but it gives me the feeling of walking through emptiness which is what I think I was trying to express with these stories.

"You're pathetic."   
"Just one more? Please?"   
"I am disgusted by your very existence."  
"I've already had four bottles. One more can't hurt.”  
"Don't you hear how sick you sound? Four bottles? In one night?" His mind is so mean, so rude and offensive, and yet, Pavel knows that it’s telling the truth. He really should get up and leave the bar, his friends have left, they asked Pavel if he was leaving too and he told them he was just going to have one more glass. Two hours ago. One glass turned into five.   
"It's not as bad as it sounds."  
"It's worse."   
"Why should I even listen to you? You have done nothing to help me!" Pavel bursts out, maybe he speaks aloud because a man a few tables from him gives him a weird look.   
"Neither has you,” the voice says coldly. 

Pavel ignores the part of his thoughts that are trying to reason with him, the part of his head that just wants to help him. He fills the glass again, makes sure every last drop of the vodka falls into his glass before he pours it down his throat. It should hurt but he is beyond numb, he hardly feels that anything at all travels down his throat, the alcohol tastes like water. It might as well be water. He should go home. He would go home, if he had a home. But Pavel lost his home a long time ago. Now it's just a room with a bed inside. A cold bed that no one wants to sleep in. So he pours himself another glass. He stares at the wall in front of him but he doesn't really see it. It's completely blank.   
A pair of soulless eyes stares back at him from the puddle of alcohol on the table. It is spreading quickly and will soon drip over the edge. Pavel makes no attempt at trying to stop it from splashing against the floor. Someone else can clean it up. Someone else will have to. Soothing music is playing from a cassette player, a piano creates a soft melody and his eyelids become heavy... He stares deeply into the reflected eyes on the table. The liquid finally drips over the table's edge, hits the floor. Soon the room will drown in alcohol. It floods the room, fills it and escaping is impossible, he can try to swim in vodka but every time he accidentally swallows some of the drink, he is slowed down and he slowly sinks below the surface. 

During the darkest moments of the night, determination fills him. He may be a loser outside a closed bar on the Red Line right now, but he's going to find him. He's going to leave the Red Line, he may travel all across the Metro, but he will find him, waiting for Pavel in the far north, he knows it, he's going to leave.  
"You're not going anywhere!" The voice is harsh, so mean, so stupid, it doesn't understand anything, all it wants is to keep Pavel behind the walls.   
“Let go of me!" He screams, tries to fight the firm arms that hold him still, it would be easier if his body wasn't so heavy, if his arms and legs didn't weigh a thousand ton each.   
"You're drunk. Go home and sleep and I'll let you leave tomorrow, how do you feel about that?" The voice pretends to be kind, but it isn't, Pavel hears the hatred and disgust behind it.   
"Let go of me!" he says again. "I'm going to find him!" He doesn't want to be forceful, but he has to, how can Anatol understand, he can't understand.   
"I know you want to but you can't even stand up, you need to sleep and tomorrow, you can go and find him, we'll leave together, you and I."   
"But I have to, now. He misses me, he needs me, I know, I know."   
"Pavel, he hasn't come here looking for you once. Just say it aloud, you need him, not the other way around. And I understand that your trauma is horrible and I wish you hadn't gone through that, but we're here now and we need to live in the real world." And now Pavel sinks to the ground because maybe Anatol is right, maybe Artyom would have come looking for him if he wanted to, maybe Artyom just doesn't care and Pavel is alone in this world. Anatol looks troubled as tears begin to well out of Pavel's eyes. Bypassing men give them weird looks, Pavel doesn't care but apparently, Anatol does.   
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean, look, Pavel, maybe he still cares about you, we will leave the Red Line tomorrow and find out, okay?" He says in a low and gentle voice.   
"He never cared about me, I'm an idiot," Pavel sobs.   
"If that's true, then why do you have to go looking for him?" Pavel doesn't answer.   
"It's alright, I understand, we can leave tomorrow, you will find him, but tonight you have to sleep, got it?" Pavel shoves Anatol away and runs. He sprints through the tunnel, Anatol screams something behind him but Pavel ignores him. He keeps running, he's going to the border and he's almost there, so close, just a few seconds, he sprints and Artyom is waiting for him, he knows it and soon he will meet him. And Pavel falls, he crashes against the floor, maybe he took a wrong step because suddenly he's lying down, face down and he can't see anything. And he wants to get up but he can't because something is weighing him down.   
When he opens his eyes the next time, he's in his bed. His headache is worse than usual, he wishes he would have listened to the mean voice yesterday, he wishes he would have stayed in his room the entire night, it's not like another bottle had made him happier. Now his head would ache the entire day, making the already strenuous work impossible. He might as well stay home the entire day, Pavel knows he won't be doing anything today. Except for going to a meeting. With all the highest officials of the metro. A meeting, a conference, a party. Because of course that's today. 

A letter:   
Artyom… I swear I didn’t know what was going to happen. I was confused, so scared. You have to forgive me, I’m a stupid idiot, okay? I probably don’t deserve forgiveness. I’m begging you, as I have nothing left without you. 

All of their voices are white noise to Pavel. He can't hear what they're saying, he certainly doesn't want to, but even if he did, he highly doubts he could. It is a mat of sound, loud buzzing that is one big entity. He doesn't really see anything either, the 'crowd' that consists of maybe eight people is just one blur of colors, he can't make out any faces, the only color he is certain exists is gray. Or perhaps it is a shade of brown. He can't tell exactly where he sees the color, it's everywhere and nowhere, dull and perfectly complementary to the white noise that is voices talking. He definitely doesn't feel anything, he has to take a step back to remember whether he is sitting or standing up. He is standing up. A shape emerges from the faceless crowd, approaching him in dangerous speed. Pavel wants to move but he is frozen in his spot. Not until the shape is close enough to have the resemblance of a familiar face does Pavel regain control over his muscles. He's about to take a step back, would flee the room if he could remember where the exit was, but the man reaches out and slaps a hand on his shoulder, locks him into the conversation.   
"Comrade Morozov, so nice to see you again. It's been a while, hasn't it?" His voice is a distant echo far away, Pavel barely hears it, takes even longer until he can understand it. The gray shape stands weirdly still, is weirdly silent, Pavel focuses on him as he searches for what to say.   
"Oh, you know, I've been busy with work, yes? There's a lot to do on the Red Line, we have to, we have to fight nazis and torture prisoners, you know how it be." The man does nothing for what is both an eternity and a split second. Then he makes a motion as though he was nodding and Pavel feels a faint echo of satisfaction, a memory of an emotion rather than an actual one. He nods back. Takes a large gulp from the drink he just now realized he was holding in his hands. He stands there for another 10 minutes but doesn’t say anything. Maybe they’re talking to him, if so, he can’t hear it. 

"It's all gonna burn, burn like the revolutionary flame of 1917!" Pavel can't recall how he got out of the room, where all the buzz from the people went, why it's all silent now but all of that is in the back of his mind. It's about to burn as though it was the revolutionary flame of 1917. Or was it 1971? Andrei Andreyevich, his old teacher, would cringe if he saw Pavel now but 1917, 1971, what's the difference? Maybe it was 1817?   
"Who cares? It's gonna burn, burn, burn!" he says again. He has to restrain himself to not drink all of the vodka now, he can't have a lot of it left and getting back to any place where there might be other people just to get a new bottle is out of the question. No, the more than half-full bottle he has now will do. Under his bed, in a sealed wooden casket, all of them lie. The papers that will be Pavel's source of heat for the night. There are really only ten of them, but if he pours just the right about alcohol, they will burn for just long enough.   
It's time to let go. To be a new person. The pathetic fucking brainwashed idiot has haunted him, lived rent-free in Pavel's head for way too long now. Only a brainwashed idiot would rather choose whatever stupid place he lives in than the Red Line. The Red Line at least has morals, what morals to the Spartans have? Serve the interest of the metro's bourgeoisie? How noble of them, they let the rich become even richer! Why would Pavel ever care about someone stupid enough to let himself be led behind the light in such a way, someone who can't even tell what he's really fighting for and thinks he's doing it for the "betterment of humanity." Pavel is going to burn every single unsent letter he ever wrote to him. When the letters are just ashes on the ground, Pavel can start his new life, or more like, return to his old one. He won't be more than a memory, one that will have to fade quickly. But as he is about to soak the letters in vodka, his hand trembles and won't do it. No matter how loudly he internally screams at his hand to empty the bottle, it stays in the same position as before, the letters still intact. He pours the remaining vodka down his throat instead.


	2. Have you ever been to Moscow?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pavel wanders through the dead city, speaking to Artyom.

And before the war, I swear, Moscow, it was a beautiful city. We were like the greatest city in the world. 10 million habitants, do you understand how many that is? What are we in the Metro, like forty thousand? I don't know. People, they loved to come here. The streets -- filled with tourists. You know how you can read Latin and how most signs have an English translation on them as well? That's a reason for that. The tourists, man. And I know you don't remember much of it, how old were you when it happened, four? I wasn't much older, I was around ten? Maybe nine? I'm sorry, chuvak, the details are a little blurry, as I'm sure you can understand. Where was I... Right, Moscow. Fantastic place. The Red Square, you should have been there during summer, before the bombs. The cathedral, the Lenin Mausoleum, Kreml, it was, it was... magical. So large, so magnificent, you really can't understand it unless you were there. You've probably been there too, right? You just can't remember it, that's fair, to be honest, this is mostly just what I've read in books, but I swear, from the few memories I have of the Red Square, it was fantastic. The place was full of people, and it was so hot, I may not have liked it then, however, but thinking back at it, it was truly special. You'll never understand. Yeah, I understand, hey, don't look at me like that! I know what I'm talking about, I'm not the one who literally wasn't even five before they left the surface. I mean, you can see what it once was, but it's not really the same anymore, eh? I wouldn't normally say this, but it's like, sometimes I don't even know if I miss it, it doesn't... mean anything to me, this is my life now. Come on, I'd know you'd benefit a lot from being a communist. Yes, you, I know that deep inside, you have that communist gene inside of you. Yes, yes, don't try to deny it! Fine, fine, I'll admit, maybe communism on the Red Line is exactly like Marx or Lenin intended it to be, but it'll get better, I know it will. Come on, we need more people like you on the Red Line! People who are smart and careful and intelligent, you know, and good fighters, like damn, how you got us out of the Reich, that was impressive, I promise, it's-, fine, fine, I'll stop, I won't say another word about communism. You don't like politics? That's... a little weird, coming from a ranger, but sure, whatever you say, chuvak. I know you're serious, I am too. I care very deeply about this. Yes, yes, I do. You want anything more to drink? Hey, I'm not drunk, not at all! What are you on about? Just because you never drink anything. Having one more won't hurt, you know? But okay, I won't drink more. Okay, so now you want to drink anyway, you know what, you confuse me. Ah, yes you're too intelligent for me, I get it, I get it. I'm just a simple sheep on the Red Line, I wasn't intelligent enough to join the Order, it's cool, I get it. You're right, I would never have joined the Order anyway... but remember, it was your rule, no politics. What else is there to talk about... I'm sure you can think of something, right? Should I tell you more about Moscow? Alright, like, maybe I deceived you earlier, I don't remember that much, most of it I just read in books I could find, I always liked to read, actually, a little weird, maybe, but it was something you could do late at night... Oh, you too like reading? I bet, what else is there to do when you don't like to meet people. Come on, I can tell you spend most of your time alone, not saying that you should, people would love you, I know they would, you're cute and- No, hahaha, I mean it, I really do, oh, come on, don't be mad. You are substantially younger than me, four years do matter. It does, I'm not changing my mind on this, no. You're cute, Artyom, I won't say otherwise. Fine, we don't have to talk anymore, it's pretty late, we should probably go to sleep anyway. I know you- okay, okay, fine, I'll shut up, you can't handle being called cute once, that's reasonable, I get that, just saying, I wouldn't mind if someone were to call me cute… Oh, you don’t? But you're right, right, let's go to bed, what time is it? Past 12 already, jesus, time moves fast, well, sleep well, I know I will, there's still some left in the bottle do you want it? Really, can't we share it? See, I told you you were a real communist deep down... Okay, but you're right, goodnight.

A long time later  
Moscow isn't beautiful anymore, I know it, you had known it that night, so many months ago now, or has it been years? Somehow, all the days blur together and I'm hardly aware of their existence anymore, not since... well, you know what I mean. I think it was about 2 years ago now. I mean, look at it, it's tragic, tell me you feel the same. Short fragments of memories are all that I have, I definitely exaggerated a little that night, I had a little too much to drink, haha, it's even worse that I keep going back to that night, I know you don't care, do you even remember it? You probably don't, that's fine, I shouldn't remember it, I tell myself that I'm over you and then I do this... replay our conversation, talk to you in my head, damn, I really need help. Good luck with getting a mental health professional in the Metro, that's what you should say to me, what you would say to me if you were here. Is it weird to say that I almost like Moscow better this way? Yeah, probably, but this is somehow the only world we have now, you have to learn to love it. Look at it, Artyom, look at its beauty. The fallen houses, they too mean something to me. God, I don't want to go back into the Metro, how long has it been, two days? I really can't remember, but I'm fairly certain I've slept twice, the surface really isn't ideal to sleep on, but until you give me something better I'm staying here. Well, not you personally, but just someone. I'm going to run out of filters soon, though, I brought a few weeks of supply but I don't know if they are enough. I'm never going back to the Metro. I'm going to find you, Artyom, even if you hate me, even if you never want to see me again, I know you're out there, you're not dead. 

Look at these houses, have you been inside, since you know, after the war? I have a few times, it was tragic. What once was people's homes were now nothing more than empty rooms with ruined furniture. I could imagine a family, just a few days before the end, they went to the store and bought a new couch, a really expensive one, mind you, it was simply beautiful, soft leather, entirely white, the mother was very keen that you were completely clean each time you sat on it, and they carried it upstairs, it was really heavy, it took the family hours to carry it for all the stairs in their building, they lived in an apartment, you see. I tried to find it, I tried to find the place where I once lived but I couldn't, I don't even remember which station was the closest one, weird, huh? Now I'm a little lost, I have to admit, I don't know exactly where I am in relation to the closest Metro station but it is unimportant since I'm not going back there. I know you feel the same, don't you? I know that you are fascinated by the surface, that you wish you could live here. I'm gonna try until I die or until I find you because I know that you're here. Are you walking around, admiring the mighty buildings? Do you wonder if you lived here, do you wish you lived here? As sad as it is to watch, do you wish you could flee here? I'm going to enter an old building now, the door has been torn apart ages ago, I just have to kick it and it falls to the floor and shatters in a million pieces. I'm not in the inner city anymore, I'm somewhere around the further stations, maybe close to VDNKh, but I wouldn't know, if, I should pass Botanichesky Sad soon, that place is at least easy to recognize after what you did to it, sorry, Artyom, I know you don't like to talk about it, I'm sorry, I don't even know why I brought it up. 

The apartment complex is, of course, completely empty, a few skeletons are all that I see, I can't tell if they're human or not. I'll look through some of the apartments, but I don't find anything and I should really stop talking to you, I know you don't want to hear my whining and my problems but you're the only company I've got, I can't leave you and I'm certainly a little on edge, everything the wooden floor creeks and I flinch, Jesus, I know there's nothing here, I'm alone. I better go outside again, I don't want to sleep here, I won't be able to relax. 

And there's a square over there and the square is empty, I don't recognize it, this isn't VDNKh after all, I have no clue where I could be. Moscow is a huge city, you know, too big for only one person, I'll get used to having the place for myself soon, if I can get used to it in five weeks, maybe not. The wind howls eerily over the square, plastic bags dance in the wind and it hits me that we are listening to the same wind and I wonder if you hear it too and I wonder if you're thinking of me(I know you're not).   
I'm trying to fall asleep but I swear something is wrong. The little shack I found is awfully cold, even while fully dressed. There's probably a reason I've never heard of anyone sleeping on the surface before. I almost want to go back into the Metro now. But I won't, I've promised myself this and I've promised you this, Artyom, so I'll be staying here, although I feel like I'm freezing to death. Maybe I'll be free from the pain sooner if I do. I wonder if anyone misses me. Is Anatol thinking about me, is Moskvin, is anyone? They must have noticed that I'm gone but I highly doubt that they will be searching for me. I'm simply not worth it. I'm nothing more than a tragic loser, I know that what's Anatol thinks of me, I've seen the disgusting pity in his eyes when he takes the bottles away from me. At least I won't be able to drink during my last weeks, I really despise drinking, I hate how stupid it makes me, I hate how much time I waste when I'm drunk but I just can't stop, I look at the bottles and it would be so easy, so simple to forget my problems and fill myself with artificial hope for another couple of hours, so I'll do it. Don't tell me you wouldn't too. You probably wouldn't, you're intelligent and responsible and you have pride and self-control, all of which I lack and maybe that's why I liked you so much in the first place. The floor creaks eerily. Someone(something) is approaching. 

And I survived, it was just a large rat walking over the floor, I killed it, I know you don't like rats, do you remember when you told me that after I teased you when you flinched from the sight of one? I didn't tell you back then, I just laughed it off but I felt so stupid about it for the rest of the day, I promised myself to never mock you for your fears again, I don't know if I did, I don't think that matters compared to what else I did... I've been laying here for hours, unable to fall asleep and I never told you this but I'm afraid of the dark but I can't waste batteries having my flashlight turned on so this will have to do. 

I want to find you, Artyom, five days have already passed and I haven't slept in 48 hours, it's getting to me but I wasn't able to sleep last night or the night before that, I kept hearing weird sounds and as soon as I closed my eyes I just saw unpleasant images so I stayed awake. I'm slowly losing hope that anything good will come out of this. I brought a gun with me, I haven't had to use it yet, it's surprising how much killing that can be avoided if you really try to, most beasts will ignore you if you ignore them. I'm considering putting a bullet to my brain, leaving my filters and weapon to the next stalker who may come here, a part of me hopes it will be you. Apart of me wants to go to VDNKh and do it there, I don't even know if you live there, you just briefly mentioned it being your home station once, maybe I should leave my body right outside of Polis but I must admit that I still don't really know where I am, I had no idea it was possible to get lost in your own city but it was a lot easier than I thought and maybe I would get somewhere if I just kept walking in the same direction but I must admit that I spend most of my time sitting down on the ground, leaning against a wall or a bench; I'm tired and hungry. I packed food in my backpack but not enough, by no means enough for me to being able to eat every day, I focused more on water instead, thought it'd be a fun little game, what will I first run out of, proviant or filters? Right now, it's leaning towards proviant but things can change. 

He would often ask himself what death was. Why wasn't he dead yet? Death, the simple answer is, is the opposite of life. Is life good? Not by default. But everyone can agree that it's better than death. He feared death. Death was it. The unknown, the thing we never, ever could understand. The unknown was feared. Always. The unknown was what made the toughest of men break down in a dark tunnel, break down from just a whisper. The unknown was the reason he had a million lives on his conscience. It was a simple trade. He should die but gave death another life instead.  
Pavel thought he would die. He was certain of it, he had accepted it. He deserved it. He wanted it.  
But he didn't. Die. When he opened his eyes the next time, he wasn't in the afterlife. God was to be rejected if you lived on the Red Line (for good reasons, imagine unironically being religious in 2033) so Pavel had never imagined the afterlife as a heaven in the sky or a hell down below, just as an empty, dark void. With dark, rotten, hands tugging on him, he was for a minute certain that he had reached it. That Artyom had killed him so quickly, so effortlessly that he hadn't even noticed it. Death hadn't filled him with emptiness, though, just with fear. Somehow, he wasn't dead, because had he been dead, he wouldn't have feared death. And when he woke up again, on the surface, alive, breathing, all he could think was why and how?  
And now, years later, once again, he opened his eyes, on the surface, alive. Not only alive but he hadn't run out of filters either, which should have happened when he slept. He took a sharp breath, looked around. He was lying in the exact same spot as he had fallen asleep, in dark apartment. He could breathe. And so, Pavel crawled back to the metro. Because death hadn't taken him yet. It must mean, it was not yet his time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay like I know this is terrible haha, I wrote this such a long time ago and I don't even know why I decided to post it but since I've already posted the first part, I might as well post the rest I guess


	3. Somewhere on the coast of Russia.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pavel can travel far but Artyom will always be there, following him like a ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this piece inspired by a reddit post with the same title. I think the post is just a picture of the shore, presumably in Russia.

Occasionally breaking through the gray sky are beams of light. He can see all the way to the horizon because the sea is a flat and straight line. The crisp and clear air causes his throat to burn when he inhales and cold wind hits his face. The scent of salt emerging from the sea is so strong that Pavel can almost taste it on his tongue. For a second, he is taken back to when his mother and father took him to the sea when he was a little boy, he remembers happy children whom he played with, warm water and white sand, the beach that didn’t seem to end no matter how far you walked. The sky was blue and the sun was burning against his skin. Even now, many years later, the memory warms him inside. Pavel can't remember feeling the warmth of the sun since the apocalypse. He begins walking along the shore. 

Artyom sits on a pier a few hundred meters down the endless coastline. Pavel knew he would be here, yet still feels a sting in his heart as he lays his eyes on him. He too is looking at the horizon, not yet aware of Pavel's presence. His legs are dangling over the water, his back is turned towards. Killing Artyom would be so easy, the best opportunity Pavel will ever get. He would just have to push him lightly, just a little nudge and it would be over, Artyom can't swim and the water is terribly cold, he would drown within minutes, maybe even without Pavel having to do anything to speed the process up. Just a quick push, Artyom wouldn't even have time to react, he would just fall, never knowing who his killer was. It would be so easy, too perfect, all of Pavel's problems would disappear in a second. The nightmares and the pain, the worry and stress and anxiety would all leave his body and he would be able to breathe again, finally be free.   
But that would be cheating. 

He has to do it the real way. The guilt from murdering his friend would be even worse, would weigh him down wherever he went, strangle and suffocate him during the day, keep him up at night. He imagines Artyom locking eyes with him and desperately staring into his soul as Pavel shoves him under the water’s surface, reaching out for help only to realize that there is none, and a lump appears in Pavel’s throat, his body begins to shake. He's only a centimeter from touching Artyom, he couldn’t hear Pavel as he silently walked over the pier, he didn't hear him despite his troubled breath and trembling limbs. He could touch his hair too, feel the softness of it between his fingers, feel the warmth of his body.   
"You come here quite often, don't you?" he says instead. Artyom doesn't look startled, he doesn't flinch or shriek, he doesn't look up at all, doesn't utter a sound. He shrugs his shoulders and Pavel realizes that he knew he was here all along, maybe even before he knew it.   
"You would know that?" Artyom says, partly a question, partly a statement.   
"I imagine you would," Pavel answers, clears his throat.   
"Why are you here?" Artyom asks. Pavel intentionally avoids answering directly, he breaks eye contact and looks at the horizon instead.   
"I had to see you."   
"Why?" Artyom says.   
Yeah, why?  
Pavel searches for an answer, for anything to tell Artyom but he stands empty-handed. The question remains unanswered, lingering in the air between them. It's strange, saying that you have to see someone and then not being able to explain why; Artyom just glares confusedly at him the longer he stands without an answer. Pavel can't tell him anything, so he simply sits down next to him on the pier, hopes that Artyom can understand him.  
"I'm sorry for... well, everything," he says when the silence is too much and suffocates him. Artyom glares flatly at him and Pavel's blood turns cold in his veins.   
"It's easy to be sorry. You know, later," Artyom says. Pavel wants to grip his shoulders and shake him while telling him that he’s sorry over and over again, he wants to cry in front of Artyom and while choking on his own tears, tell him about the nightmares, about the pain, the feelings he can't ignore. He nods instead.   
"I don't expect you to forgive me. I get that you hate me." Artyom is silent for a long time. Minutes pass and Pavel watches the calm sea, looks at the horizon and the sun that is going down, far, far away, a glowing ball in the sky.   
"It's not that I hate you," Artyom unexpectedly says when Pavel has almost forgotten what they are talking about, that they aren’t just enjoying the sunset somewhere on the coast of Russia as comrades, as friends.  
"But?" Pavel asks with a shaky breath.   
"I just, I don't, I'm not mad at you, I'm not angry anymore, but I don't really know what to tell you. I can't be friends with you," Artyom says and Pavel wonders how he can crush his hopes so casually.   
"I'm sorry, what do you want me to do?" Pavel cries out, desperately, gripping for anything to latch onto, for anything to say that would make a difference.  
"I can't trust you," Artyom says. Pavel wants to shove him into the water and he wants to scream at him to shut up.  
"But why did you, if you hate me so much, if you don’t like me, why didn't you kill me, on the Red Square?" Artyom shrugs his shoulders, looks at the water.   
"I didn't kill you because I didn't need another life on my conscience, I couldn't kill you when you looked so vulnerable. I truly felt sorry for you."   
"You feel sorry for me?" Pavel almost laughs. Why would Artyom ever feel sorry for him after all he's done, after all the pain he's caused him, after all the times he could have gotten him killed, after every time he's ruined his life, made his struggle a thousand times harder?   
"I do," Artyom says. "You're tragic, Pavel. You spend all day drinking and sleeping, you aimlessly walk around on the surface, looking at buildings and dreaming of the past, you hope to die but you keep surviving because you don't have the guts to actually kill yourself, isn't that pathetic? You write letters that you'll never send to me, you talk to me in your head like I was your closest friend, all because I didn't kill you in a battle ages ago, because you've abandoned all your real friends. You're a living tragedy. I'd pity myself if I were you." Artyom isn’t mocking him, there's no hatred or anger behind his words, it's just harsh and raw, depicting reality like no one else ever has.   
"I'm sorry," Pavel says without knowing what he's apologizing for. "You should have let me die on the Red Square."   
"I don't know," Artyom says. "It doesn't matter." They fall silent again; nothing he can say that will change anything. A part of him is happy that he just gets to sit next to Artyom, watching the sunset along with him.   
"That's not the only reason, you know," he finally says.   
"What's not the only reason for what?"   
"That I, uh, talk to you in my head, or write those letters to you," Pavel admits. "I don't do it just because you saved me."   
"Then why?" Artyom asks, maybe he's intrigued, maybe he cares. But Artyom looks at Pavel and he knows that Artyom already knows why. He says it anyway.   
"I, I really liked you, you were a great company, a great friend, I mean it.” He continues slowly: "I miss you." Artyom laughs and Pavel's stomach sinks to the floor, the sea breeze is suddenly 10 degrees warmer.   
"You maybe should have considered that before you handed me over to Korbut or Moskvin," Artyom says. Pavel blinks rapidly and Artyom's gaze is full of pity when their eyes meet, but not pity in a good way and Pavel is disgusted with himself, he wants to curl up in a ball and cry on the sand, he wants to jump into the water and flee; he can't swim either. He laughs as well instead.   
"That’s true. I guess I thought you’d join me on the Red Line. I'm an idiot sometimes."   
"Almost all the time," Artyom says and Pavel swears that he's smiling, just a little. He doesn't know what more to say and with his heart beating so fast he thinks he's going to faint, he moves a little closer to Artyom so that their shoulders touch and Artyom doesn't react and doesn't move. Minutes pass. And Pavel wants to touch Artyom, he wants to feel his skin against his, he needs to know, is it warm or cold, the last time he felt it was so warm, pure heat compared to the freezing air on the surface. He reaches out his trembling hand to touch Artyom's face, to stroke his fingers over his cheek and Artyom visibly freezes and Pavel can't tell whether his skin is warm or cold when his own hand is made out of ice. Artyom’s face is blank but he's not moving away with disgust and Pavel leans in, runs his fingers through his hair and he doesn't know if he will embrace him tightly or kiss him or just place his hands on his shoulders and pull him close to whisper his pathetic feelings and feel Artyom's breath against his neck but before he can make up his mind, Artyom places his hands on his chest and shoves him away, shakes his head.   
"I'm sorry, I can't, you shouldn't" and before Pavel knows it, he's standing up, ready to walk away and he shakes his head again.   
"Really, I can't, I have a wife, I'm married, I have children, I don't like you... that way, Pavel, I'm sorry but this is just weird," and before Pavel can stop him, he's running away, the shore is endless, he can run forever, run home to his wife and children and Pavel will never see him again which is fine, which doesn't make him hurt at all and why is he lying? He wants nothing more than to shout after Artyom, tell him he's sorry, that he'll do anything if he can forgive him.  
"Artyom, wait!" he screams but it's already too late, Artyom doesn't hear him and if he does he doesn't care. "Please come back, I'm sorry, I don't know why I did that, I, it was an accident, I promise!" And Artyom isn't running anymore, he's just walking peacefully, he turns around and looks at Pavel, shakes his head, slowly before he turns around and continues walking away and all that Pavel can see is his short, black hair and his stupid black jacket, the same he wore the last time Pavel saw Artyom, on the haunted place known as the Red Square and soon he will never see him again. Pavel cries like a baby and he lets himself cry, he can't help himself anymore and the water tastes like salt just like his tears but it's much much colder, the shock perplexes him and he can't move, he can't even breathe, he just sinks to the ground like a stone and he wonders why he did this, did he really think Artyom was coming back to save him, Artyom isn't here anymore and now he's going to die for nothing and wasn't this what he wanted all along, maybe it's for the better.   
And somehow Pavel can still breathe and somehow the water is gone but his face is still wet and burns of salt and he and his sheets are still soaked but the cold is replaced by severe heat. Pavel opens his eyes and gasps for air. It's pitch black in the room, he left the light off before he went to bed and Pavel lies still for nearly an hour before he can fall asleep, he stares into the darkness and wishes he wasn't here, wishes he was anywhere that isn't the metro, wishes he was somewhere on the coast of Russia.


End file.
